


Can't Sleep, Can't Breathe

by Slynx



Series: Phoenix [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Major Character Injury, Multi, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes has PTSD, Slow Burn, TW: Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slynx/pseuds/Slynx
Summary: The past has been haunting the Reaper since the second Omnic Crisis began. When it interferes during a crucial battle between Doomfist and Soldier 76, he is forced to deal with the fall-out.Title based on the 'Digital Daggers' song of the same name.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: Phoenix [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553611
Comments: 24
Kudos: 85





	1. Chapter 1

Soldier 76 was going to die today. Claws tapped rhythmically on the dropship's flight console, metallic tips leaving minute scratches on the black interface as annoyed eyes followed the fight on the screen above. That should be _him_ slamming 76's face into those marble blocks, clearly. But due to an accusation of 'sentimentality' from the council, the Reaper had been tasked with watching until the last moment. Then, and only then, would he be allowed to join the Talon grunts lining the pit. Then, as insult to injury, he would have to watch Akande Ogundimu steal the one kill he wanted more than all the others combined. With any luck, he'd at least get to spit on the body before leaving.

The Reaper leaned back in the leather chair, a sliver of satisfaction sliding through him as the next hit shattered part of that gaudy red visor and cut streaks into the worn face. He could barely see it, but he knew Morrison's blue eyes would be glaring up defiantly. A large yet familiar gauntlet entered the frame, 76 deflecting the blow a bit with the pulse rifle but _clearly_ , the soldier was on the ropes. Dirt flew, clouding the screen, and it made his palms itch, fists clenching. Sitting here was the LAST thing he wanted to be doing, damnit! Reaper snarled, arms tightly folded across his chest, and forced himself to stay in the seat instead of jerking up to pace. Morrison was _his_ kill...but in the long run, Talon cared less about who killed him and more that the former Strike Commander stay dead for once in his goddamn life. Soldier 76 had proven himself to be a consummate cockroach, despite every set of odds set against his favor. Good genetics, Reaper admitted silently to himself, glaring up at the screen. Goddamnit. Could they not even be bothered to give him audio? Morrison was clearly yelling something, but it was abruptly cut off with a vicious uppercut, Doomfist slamming the red, white, and blue asshole into the ground moments later. Surely this would be the end of it? Moments later, sure enough, a smug voice entered the comms.

"I'm sure you're bored out of your mind in that cockpit. Come, my friend. It's time for this to end." Doomfist's voice barely sounded winded, despite the fight. Odd. Had Morrison really lost that much of his fighting ability over the years as to barely be a challenge for the Numbanian? Pitiful.

"On my way."

Less than a minute later, the view became much more satisfactory. Soldier 76 lay crumpled in the corner, separated from both mask and rifle, crimson staining the marble below him. The Greek sunlight beat down through the pillars, turning the pit into an amphitheater of death. Ilios really was a perfect spot for this all to end, wasn't it? A run-down wreck of a once-thriving civilization, now the pyre for a run-down wreck of a man from a once-thriving organization. Poetic.

Talon soldiers lined the pit, red masks gleaming in the sunlight. Really said something for them all to be out in the middle of the day, didn't it. Ha. The Reaper flowed more than stepped into the line-up, looking down with scorn on the torn body below before casting his gaze up to Doomfist himself. Akande was in rare form, grinning widely as he stepped towards Soldier 76 in wide, confident stride. A few scorch marks littered his form courtesy of the pulse munitions, but otherwise Doomfist appeared to have gotten through the match with barely a scratch to his name. Gold gleamed across Akande's implants and the gauntlet itself, Reaper watching with barely concealed envy as Doomfist easily lifted Soldier 76 off the ground by the throat with his flesh hand. _He_ wanted to feel Morrison's pulse stop beneath his fingers. He wanted, wanted, _wanted_ -

"You've grown old and weak, Strike Commander." The hand visibly tightened around Morrison's throat, fingers digging into flesh. Doomfist scoffed as leather-clad arms attempted to hit pressure points on the hand and arm lifting him, but the choking man clearly had run out of time and strength. 

"Fuck-k you-!" Legs kicked out but they were too far from their target, Morrison wriggling and sounding much like a fish out of water. 

Akande pursed his lips, eyes a bit brighter than the sunlight flashing in as he loomed above the struggling figure. "Even your former friends have deserted you. Look," he motioned up to the sidelines, turning 76 enough for Reaper to see his face...only for him to realize that it was on purpose. "Reaper has come to watch you die as well." Reaper glared down at them both, knowing it to be a grand gesture on several levels. The council would be pleased. Morrison would die knowing he was there. Above all, Akande (and judging by the smug look on his face, the bastard KNEW) would get the credit for killing the last Strike Commander of Overwatch. It was a taunt for Reaper as much as it was for Morrison, not that Morrison himself had a clue. In fact, the idiot seemed to be getting completely the wrong idea by Reaper's appearance.

"GABE-" Morrison choked out, struggling against the grip. "G-Gabe- help-"

"No one by that name exists anymore, Strike Commander." Doomfist sneered. "Though it's fitting you call for a dead man before you die yourself-"

"F-fuck-G-ga-" the fingers tightened, gauntlet raising, and Reaper knew in that moment that Morrison actually believed it was possible that aid might come. Silently, he scoffed. Doomfist would end this, much to his own chagrin, and-

And-

Oh no.

Not again. Not _NOW_.

Since they'd undertaken this damn new Omnic Crisis (which Reaper still considered a terrible idea but hell, at least he knew what to expect), flashbacks had haunted what downtime he could take. It had started tame enough with a short trip into memory lane (unpleasant but not impossible to handle), but it had hit in his own room. The appearance of the Strike Team across from his bed had been unexpected, the entire lot of them trading jokes and shit talk before he could pull himself free with a few deep, heaving breaths. The hallucination had been too real, too life-like, but seeing Amari with both eyes...it was enough to realize the wrongness of it all. The empty, hollow silence that had followed the fading murmur had left him sleepless for the rest of the night, the wraith glaring up at the ceiling in consternation.

After a bit, he'd begun to tell when they were about to occur. A ringing would start in his ears, Reaper gaining a few moments of clarity into what the trigger (usually sound-based) might be before the hallucination hit. Most were easily dealt with, leaving him to deal with the sweat and shakes that followed but rarely any other kind of aftermath. The trip by the training range several weeks in, though, had sent him into a headspace he'd never thought possible. A troop of Bastions had come barreling down after him and gunfire had echoed noisily as he flew down the corridor and rounded the corner, the thundering of metallic feet on the omnium floor pounding, POUNDING-! Gabriel had cursed loudly before shoving himself back out to meet them head-on (there was no way to outrun the damn buckets), shotguns held high as he gritted his teeth to swing back and fire- at nothing. Fucking hell! The Reaper had slunk off in shame, glad that there hadn't been any collateral damage beyond his own pride and apparent loss in sanity. Later, when Sombra had asked about it (of course she'd managed to dig up the footage), he'd blamed it on an itchy trigger-finger, but nothing had hit him this hard, this FAST and it was- it-

_"SHIT!" The omnium was coming down and they needed to evac. NOW. Reyes hissed out a breath as he looked down, realizing that the distraction had worked to clear the strike team but for one member, a certain second-in-command held out at arms-length by an OR-14 unit, energy sword held high as it aimed to punch right through his SEP mate's chest. Gabriel's stomach twisted, knowing he had mere seconds to act. Now or never._

-

His vision was spotting out. Jack glared Doomfist down, still beating at the arm holding him in place, but what use was that when that gauntlet was clearly about to make mashed potatoes out of his face? Reyes was stock-still up on the fringes. It was evident that no help would be coming from that direction. Jack worked up what saliva he could muster and used the last of his air to spit the wad right onto Doomfist's cheek. He refused to go down without a fight. He wouldn't- go down- without- a-

The pit _exploded_ into action. Jack had no warning whatsoever before he was dropped like a rock, the soldier nearly heaving up the stale coffee from earlier as he sucked in air as fast as his lungs could handle it. Rolling to the side and back onto his feet (albeit, to his chagrin, a bit more unstable than he'd hoped to be), Jack braced himself for a punch that never came. Instead, blue eyes shot wide. Holy shit. "Gabe?!"

-

_The new technique had worked! Ha! "Eat that, chipbrains." Gabriel hissed out, the death spiral ending in a blur. Most of the surrounding units had been downed or were fleeing back to a defensive position, but the big OR unit was still standing. It had dropped Jack at least. That was a plus. Gabriel squared off against the titan, the two at a standstill...before the omnic gave a electronic roar of anger, arm-mounted cannon raising. Now THIS was the kind of fight he lived for. Gabriel grinned, dropping into a roll to dodge the fire- holy shit, had that omnic just CHARGED him?! When had it gotten that kind of technique? None of the briefings had mentioned- ah, blast it. In the early days, the tank form for the Bastions had been a nasty surprise too. If they could sort through that, surely a motion boost for the ORs could be dealt with as well._

_With a shove off from a nearby wall, Gabriel ducked another shot and fired off two of his own, nailing the bot in the cover for its central processing system. The shielding was almost down! If they could get another shot, perhaps from a different angle?_

_A familiar pulse rifle laid nearby. The Commander's eyes nearly rolled. God, could Morrison stop losing his gear for one goddamn minute? "Morrison!" He hefted the weaponry, throwing it one-armed to the scuffed-up blond (looked almost white due to the dust they'd kicked up) in the corner. "I've got this. Move out!"_

-

Reaper had just mowed down the Talon grunts like a warm knife through goddamn _butter_. Jack ducked for cover, watching with wide eyes and a grin as Doomfist roared in anger and confusion, the Talon head lunging for Gabriel and missing completely. Ho-ly shit. Holy shit!

"Have you lost your mind?!" Akande appeared to be yelling, barely blocking the next barrage with his gauntlet, the cybernetic enhancements acting as a partial shield but unable to fully block the shotgun spray from nailing him. Ebony holes notched into the dark skin, Jack noted, similar to the holes still lining his own back and slowing him to this day...but Doomfist seemed to not be recovering very well. Good, he thought viciously. Still, he could do with a- gun? Jack shot forward, snagging the gun out of mid-air with a hoarse 'oo-rah' that hurt his throat just the right way. The marble hurt to roll forward on and didn't give great grip beneath his boots, but now the fight was two-on-one. They could to this. _Gabe was on his side!_

"Not a chance." Jack barked back, shooting off a barrage of pulse munitions into Doomfist's backside with barely concealed glee. They'd take this asshole down together, just like old times. It- something was wrong. Oh shit- "Gabe, watch- GABE, MOVE!"

-

_The electronic screech of the OR was oddly fading. It almost sounded like the unit was attempting to talk to him? How insane was that? Something about 'knowing this day might come' and 'putting him down'. Ha. Like this pile of rust had a chance against-_

_Oh goddamnit. Stupid charge update. Gabriel swiveled to re-engage, but was forced to stop, something gripping at his head and back of his neck. What?! OR14s didn't have hands so what the hell was holding his-_

-his head-what. What? Reaper blinked, panting, and had just enough time to realize that he was no longer on the side of the pit (when the hell did that happen?) before a freight train rammed up into his spine from behind. A sharp yelp left him, the wraith dropping like a bag of rice to the ground and realizing that the sky looked oddly...dark. Doomfist-shaped? Oh. Red eyes snapped wide. Wait, what the hell had just happened?! _Whendidhejointhisfight-_

Meteor Strike?

Well. Fuck him sideways.

Reaper attempted to scuttle out of the blast radius, but it was much too late. The Doomfist gauntlet had already narrowed in on its intended target and it took him a moment that yes, that was most likely part of his esophagus he could feel pulsing in his mouth as the gauntlet made contact, the fist slamming nearly _through_ his downed form into the slabs below. Blood spattered out of his mask, Reaper's head lolling to the side as he attempted to shadow step away and found he...couldn't. Something fizzled along his back, the mercenary noting hazily that the hit had probably damaged the stabilizing implants. Great. That was going to down him for a while. How the hell was he going to- AGH! Had Akande just shot him?! FUCK! That utter bastard! Reaper opened his mouth to tell him off and promptly choked, blood gurgling. How much internal damage had Doomfist just caused? It dawned on him suddenly that Soldier 76 might not be the only one biting the dust today. Shit. Had the council planned this? One commander wasn't enough?! He was ON THEIR SIDE, damnit! Why the hell would they do this?!

...Wait. Where was the OR14 he'd been seeing earlier? He hadn't actually-?!

Doomfist was suddenly knocked to the side, a powerful blast rocking the pit. It took a moment for Reaper to place the reason why, mostly due to being peeled off the ground and shoved into a fireman's lift. Light and pain burst behind his eyelids, groans punched out as the marble rapidly disappeared underfoot. What was- where were they even going? Who even was-

Did he even need to ask? The damn gaudy jacket was below his face, Reaper gaining a small fraction of humility back as the pounding run led him to heave up a mess of gore onto the leather surface, concealing at least a portion of the damn '76' from view. But now, it was in his mask and it was pooling in the damn eye lenses, a swirl of viscera that he was glad he couldn't smell, the sight paired with the still-constant motion of Morrison's sprint prompting another wave that proceeded to completely obscure his sight. This- was this it? With the Talon cybernetic enhancements partly out of commission, his healing cycles would be thrown off and slowed to a crawl, forcing his physical form to rely on the chemical concoction the SEP had made of his bloodstream all those years ago...and that just wasn't going to cut it. As he lost consciousness, Reaper couldn't help but find the dark humor in it all. The gravestone would be a killer, wouldn't it? 'Here lays the Reaper, who died a stupid ass death at the hands of his supposed allies'. Talk about poetic. What a goddamn waste. What the hell had he been thinking? Where- where the hell was 76 taking him? Not like it mattered really, given the circumstances. Goddamnit. F-fuck... He gurgled in another breath and promptly passed out, relief rushing him as he fell into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jack, this is the worst idea you've ever had." The Eye of Horus twitched judgmentally just below its organic counterpart, a barely-muted sigh hissing out before lips clamped into a tight, thin line. Ana Amari stared the man before her down for a good half-minute more, then shook her head. These two…why was it always _these two?_

Another sigh left. Deft fingers dipped the bag of loose-leaf tea once more, then flicked as her wrist did in a single motion, the bag flying into the pile of collected medical debris across the room without much fanfare. Royal blue fabric bunched and twisted as Ana sat at the end of the lone bed, sipping the tea slowly and narrowing her eye once more in his direction.

"He is going to murder you the moment he is awake and can move."

-

"No, he isn't. I _swear_ to you that he won't." It still hurt to speak. Hell, it still hurt to breathe. Jack swallowed thickly, the dark, multi-colored bruises ringing his throat jumping. The difference was that he could get by with minor treatment for now. Gabe…couldn't. Blue eyes flicked towards the occupant of the bed.

It was only due to the meeting with Angela Ziegler that Gabriel Reyes still lived. Empty health packs littered the junk pile to the side, having been used down to the last supply available. Jack's biotic emitter was planted to the ground beside the bed, the charge running out often but stubbornly planted back down the moment it cooled enough to be used again. The Ilios safe house he'd been operating out of was hidden but held few medical supplies relevant for the situation, not to mention the layer of dust and grime that coated the surfaces, risking infection and god knew what else. Clean sheets had laid undisturbed in one of the old cabinets at least-

_What_ was he going to do? A worn, scarred hand lifted, fingernails scratching dully through his scalp in frustration as Jack Morrison stared across the room. Gabriel was propped up on his side with every pillow and spare scrap of fabric Jack could find in an attempt to keep his old friend breathing and even _that_ did not seem to be cutting it. Even from here, he could see the blood dripping onto the pillow below Gabe's torn face.

"Ana, he took on Talon forces and faced Doomfist down one-on-one just to save my life. I'm no-t'" Jack wheezed, steadying his voice as best he could before continuing. "I'm not going to let him die."

-

"It's not about letting him die. Jack-" Ana lowered her cup, taking in Jack's clearly-worn figure for the fifth time that hour, noting how he favored one leg while standing and how his shoulder, though she'd managed to shove the dislocated limb back into place, still seemed too rigid. "You've worn yourself to the bone to bring him here. Look at you." She waved a hand, motioning from boot to head. "You're barely standing. There isn't a thing more that we can do for him, especially not with your current condition." It was a miracle he was still standing, given the damage he'd received…but then again, Jack Morrison was one of the most stubborn people she'd ever met.

The call had come in as she'd been on the return train to Greece, the rough voice over the comm summarizing while odd noises carried on in the background. A Talon trap. An acceptance of the outcome. An unexpected savior. The retreat. But, more urgently, a ragged plea over the phone for help in stabilizing one Gabriel Reyes that Jack had somehow managed to literally run back to safety. Ana had planned to take the long route back, enjoying the views and the fleeing evening colors across the European countryside. Clearly, that had been a pipe dream.

Gabriel had been in worse condition than even she had expected, given Jack's explanation. There had been too much blood and too little effect from her own healing capabilities, both old soldiers having to rely on old-fashioned first aid to try to stabilize their former teammate. Bandages still wound thickly around Gabriel's skin, discoloration staining them in too many places, and around Jack as well in the places she'd been able to guilt him into sitting still long enough to have treated. 

The main issue was that Gabriel had been in rough shape before the injuries had occurred. Time had not been kind to the Reaper. A form of vitiligo littered his skin, dying it an unearthly albino shade in patches that she could have sworn moved from time to time. What patches remained of the dark skin she remembered from years past were notched with more scarring than even Jack's form held, his right side especially affected with what looked like a combination of shrapnel and burn marks. It continued up his neck to his face, a massive site of scars scraped across from left cheekbone to missing right ear, round nubs of flesh poking out from where the cartilage ought to be in not only the earhole but from Gabriel's nose, the lower half completely missing and leaving an ominous hole reminiscent of the Reaper's mask. The other ear remained partially intact, half missing in a diagonal cut that appeared newer than the rest- perhaps some sort of Talon in-fighting? Most disturbingly though were the implants; they encapsulated every vertebrae along Gabriel's back, the flesh distorted around each metallic plate with infection of some kind that bordered on necrotic for a few. That was all without the damage from the fight that had damaged most of the implants and caused so much internal damage that parts of Gabriel's torso had sunken in. There wasn’t even a sliver of hope for the Reaper to recover without expert medical assistance, which neither she nor Jack could provide. A mental image of Jack's still-infected shotgun wounds from Cairo tugged at Ana's mind, forcing her to look back to her old friend.

"Calling Overwatch does not even guarantee their assistance. You'd be risking our identities and their lives, should he awake." She raised the cup, taking another slow sip of the cooling tea. "Giving him a comfortable death may be the greatest mercy we can grant him."

-

"He won't hurt them." Jack growled back. Ana meant well. But this- he couldn't let this go. He'd just gotten Gabriel back, damnit. He wasn't about to lose him again when there was a solution so close within reach!

"You just have to let me use your comm to call it in. I won't reveal you if you don't want to-"

-

"It holds my callsign, Jack." Ana chuckled, amusement absent. "Even if I were to let you do so, they would know. Angela already knows." Despite Angela's new involvement with the new embodiment of the organization, she doubted that Mercy would have divulged everything she knew to the team there. That said, bringing a known terrorist to recover in the Overwatch medical center seemed a good way to take down the entire operation. Reaper was too dangerous to bring in…and it wasn't exactly an option to drop him at a hospital.

"Unless you can find a way to convince me that Gabriel would not harm the members of Overwatch, this isn't a viable option."

-

"I'm living proof that he wouldn't hurt them-! They-" his throat closed up suddenly, catching Jack off-guard. He coughed roughly through it, hand clamped over his mouth, the other clenching into a fist as he strode over to the side of the bed. Doomfist had done this, not Gabe. Not-

A wheezing gurgle sounded from the bed, the eye of Horus staying resolutely on the former Strike Commander as Jack dropped into the chair he'd been inhabiting since arrival beside the bed. He ignored Ana for now, reaching for one of the limp hands among the sheets. Chest tight, Jack forced out a few more hacking coughs before it eased. Scarred hands tightened around a discolored hand.

If he couldn't convince Ana, then there was only one other person who could do so. The name slid from his throat, as much an acknowledgement as it was a call to the person in question.

"Gabe."

Gently, Jack squeezed the hand in both of his, pulsing the touch every few seconds. He didn't dare shift the form about in the slightest. The mess that had come out of the Reaper mask when it had first been pulled off was reminder enough that Gabriel couldn't handle much movement at the moment. Jack had thought him dead on arrival but for the pulse he'd found-

There! Broad shoulders leaned in, Jack's breath halting as he watched the eyelids twitch before slitting open. 

"Hey stranger." That...almost sounded too teasing. Could Gabe even hear him? Jack squeezed the hand just a bit tighter in his. Was this just some sort of subconscious reaction? The form under the sheets began to shake, breath halting and too quick. 

"Gabe?"

-

An echo chamber. Blood pounding in his ears, head ringing. It was the only comparison that seemed to make any sense. Every sound reverberated off of itself infinitely, pinging off every wall of his mind in an insanity-inducing squabble that he couldn't block out. Couldn't- where the hell was this-? What- 

Light taunted him from beyond the prison of his eyelids. His insides pulsed dully, molten as his liver flowed freely into his intestines. Reaper groaned, body attempting to snap into a fetal position. The implants didn't feel right, electronica sending jolts through his nerves, each twitch waking him more with each reiteration and ramping up the agony until- this- oh shitttt-

_-helicopter? Dropship. Had they landed or were they still in-air? Gabriel could feel the straps holding him to the bed, the medics having done what they could for him until arrival at the medical facilities. That detonator shrapnel had done a number on him, despite the body armor. The Overwatch Commander shuddered in place, noticing the grip on his hand only after a brief struggle with consciousness. Who…?_

_Jack._

_"Ja-" his tongue felt too heavy. Gabriel choked, nearly hurling again. "Ja-ck?"_

-

Oh _hell_.

Gritting his teeth, Jack shifted closer still to the bed. Gabriel's body was jerking from time to time- that had to be undoing the healing they'd tried forcing into him. But he was _awake_ and saying his name- god, a few selfish thoughts kept attempting to overpower his worry but Jack forced them back away.

"Yeah- yeah, it's me. Easy! Easy now. You're safe. You're-" Jack swallowed and, this time, the pain that came from it had nothing to do with his injured throat. "You're going to be fine."

-

_"Liar." Gabriel wheezed, squeezing back on the hands holding his. He would have chuckled if he could have, breath hitching again instead. The team would look to his second-in-command now, at least until Gabriel himself had healed. IF he was capable of healing. From the look on Jack's face, that might be a big 'if'. Despite that, he forced the corner of his mouth up in a semblance of a smile._

_"S'gonna- be-" okay. It would be okay. He couldn't get the last word out though, eyes widening suddenly in alarm as his body jerked again, blood spattering out through his lips in waves. Fuck fuck-_

_"Don't-" eyes rolled shut tightly, Gabriel (was that his spine?) jerking again. "Don't- leave-?" Goddamn selfish. The team needed Jack more than he did right now, surely. But if he was going to die-_

_"Don't l-leave me-"_

-

Jack's molars were grinding so hard they felt powdered. "I won't." He promised quietly. "I won't leave. I've got you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ana stand and leave the room, white-haired head bowing, knuckles white around the other hand.

"I've got you, Gabe. Hold on."

-

_Hold on. Of course he wanted to hold on. It just felt so damn hard to stay solid…was that normal? Gabriel gurgled, body sinking into the stretcher- with…a sheet? Stretchers didn't feel like this, did they?_

Where was he? Reaper blinked twice, found himself staring down Jack Morrison, and jerked back. It really was a damn shame that the pain in doing so was so blinding, form spasming from the effort and promptly ejecting him back into the echo chamber from before. Reaper curled into his mind and hung onto the threads with every bit of strength he had left. If that had really been 76, this left him at the mercy of his oldest enemy right when he needed to stay- awake…

-

Shit. That last spasm had done some real damage. Easing a hand under the sheets and lifting them, Jack hissed as he watched the bandages stain darker, Gabriel's form limp and unconscious once more but suffering from the time he'd spent awake. Had that even been worth it?

…Yes, Jack silently admitted. If it meant having a chance to say goodbye…then yes. He watched Gabriel's battered torso breathe shallowly, teeth still grinding. He'd have to grieve later, wouldn't he? Finding a gravesite near Ilios would be difficult-

A rough sob broke through his ribcage, despite his best efforts. Jack's teeth ground down hard, but it couldn't stop the chain reaction that followed. Leaning forward, elbows braced on the bed, Jack's shoulders shook as hot tears raced down his cheeks, soft sobs escaping. This was the closest thing they would ever get to reconciliation. Gabriel was going to die in front of him and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it but stay by his side.

…It was several minutes later that he felt a hand fall onto one of his shoulders. Weary blues regarded the person beside him- and it took him a scant few seconds to realize that something had changed. Jack blinked, eyes widening. What-?

-

"I don't like this in the slightest." Ana sighed, eye travelling back to Reyes's still form. If there was one person she knew that was more stubborn than Jack Morrison-

The scars on Jack's back were real. But the plea Gabriel had made for Jack to not leave had been just as real.

"I made the call." She felt Jack's shoulder jump beneath her fingertips, the sniper giving him a nod of confirmation. "They're in Gibraltar and on their way."

-

They- she had WHAT?!

"You called-" Jack's eyes lit up. Gabriel had a chance. He had a goddamn chance now!

"Ana-"

-

"They know who we are and that we are with an injured former agent." Ana eyed the blood-stained pillow before looking determinedly back to Jack. "Overwatch is on its way."


	3. Chapter 3

A knock so fast it sounded like tittering .22 shots echoed on the door, a half-smile tugging at Ana's face. Usually, she would check for identification before letting anyone in, but...the pace of the echoing sound in the safehouse was identification enough. Deadlock pulled back, Ana Amari swung the door open and chuckled.

"Hello Lena."

-

"Cheers, love! The- Captain _Amari?!_ " Tracer's words sputtered to a stop, wide eyes blinking rapidly as she was struck silent by the unexpected sight before her. "B-but- Winston just said there were agents- Overwatch agents! Potential injured party- OH MY GOSH! This is bonkers! You're alive!"

Orange blurred as Lena leapt forward, wrapping her former Captain in a warm, tight hug. "I can't believe it! This is-"  
Wait.  
If Captain Amari wasn't the injured party, who was?  
It suddenly occurred to the Brit that something rather obvious had changed with the woman before her, Lena's breath gasping in as she caught sight of the eyepatch.  
"Your eye!"

-

Ana pulled her in, head dipping to rest on Lena's shoulder for a moment. It had been a long time since she'd experienced a hug like this. ...Eye? Ah.  
"Old injury." She pulled back, a quick inhale and exhale helping re-center her as she guided Lena inside, remaining eye slitting. "I'm due for a rematch with Widowmaker any day now."

\- 

_Widowmaker._ Tracer hissed softly, looking away with a foreign hard look upon her face that made her look much older for a moment before it faded. "So am I. Perhaps this time, we can give her the ol' one-two together, yeah?"

A nod came from her Captain as Ana led her farther in, Lena's smile brightening again. Sure, things had changed over the years, but with the Captain at her side she-  
-she-  
-no.  
It felt like the wind had been knocked from her lungs as Lena froze in the doorway, a familiar set of blue eyes met hers. Was there gas in this place?! Was she hallucinating? That looked like- but it couldn't be. He'd died- just like- just like Captain Amari?

"Strike Commander?" Tracer whispered, one arm hugging her abdomen in a vain attempt to hold herself together. The Strike Commander was alive! JACK MORRISON WAS ALIVE!  
Before she realized she was moving, Lena was skidding to her knees in front of Commander Morrison, arms wrapped tightly around his middle as tears beaded in the corners of her eyes. She hadn't let herself believe- it had been too far of a stretch despite her usual optimistic outlook. 

-

"Tracer." Jack attempted to come off as a bit distant at first (if only for a modicum of selfish self-preservation), but he found his determination melting into the hug that both crunched his ribs and twisted at what was left of his heart. One arm wrapped around her shoulders, blue eyes softening. Who was he kidding? He'd always had a soft spot for the fiery speedster. Plus, he wasn't exactly held by decorum anymore.

"Lena. Hey. Hey, it's okay." He squeezed her shoulder gently, helping ease her up even as his other hand kept itself occupied in Gabe's. "I'll explain afterwards. You have my word." Jack's throat throbbed at all the use, the old soldier swallowing thickly. "Just need to get him some medical help first."

-

_Lena!_ He even used her first name! Tracer bit back a sob of relief, hesitantly pulling back at the urging. The Strike Commander wasn't in great shape, she realized suddenly. Were those bruises around his throat?! They looked terrible! He must have been the one they'd been called about, right? Scars (though those looked so much older) slashed down his face- perhaps it had been shrapnel from Zurich? Or-

It was then that she realized that someone else was in the room with them. Tracer's head turned in an uncharacteristic slow motion, eyes flitting over the man in the bed. Cripes, he was NOT doing well, was he? Who- oh no. What? WHAT?! 

"Commander Reyes?!"

\- 

Jack nodded stiffly, hoping he wouldn't have to try and explain. It had been only a half hour since Ana's call and yet…Gabriel had gotten so much worse. If Overwatch were to deny him treatment due to his identity as Reaper, Gabe wouldn't survive. Then again, that point was moot if a certain doctor was also coming. 

…Speak of the devil.

"Angela." He nodded to the new silhouette in the doorway.

\- 

Her earlier thoughts that their earlier meeting might be their last were evidently incorrect. Angela Ziegler found herself both exasperated and relieved by the realization, though the figure laid out next to Jack Morrison raised more questions than answers. Her scanner indicated both injured parties, the critical nature of one Gabriel Reyes and the highly irregular readings off his form at dangerous levels in more ways than one. MANY more ways than one, given his current occupation-!

"The call indicated that the injured party was former Overwatch, not Talon." Regardless, she crossed wearily to the bedside opposite of Morrison, letting her scanner get further stats while Angela stared the blue eyes down, ignoring Tracer's audible gasp.

-

Goddamnit. Had she needed to say that in front of Lena-? Really? Jack exhaled roughly, jaw tightening. "He saved my life. Took on Doomfist one-on-one to guarantee my escape." His tongue felt too thick, throat closing up beyond his control. "Can't stabilize him on our own. Also, he IS former Overwatch."

-

"He is." Winston stepped in, somber as he surveyed the occupants of the room. Carefully, he moved off to Lena's side, nodding to Commander Morrison. "It is incredible to see you again, Strike Commander. Captain Amari just finished explaining the situation to me outside. This…it's unprecedented." His head shook from side to side, glasses starting to slip down until he pushed them back up with a sigh. "Commander Reyes is clearly dying and yet- and yet I'm not sure I can condone allowing the Reaper into the Watchpoint voluntarily, regardless of the situation."

Being this close gave him the chance to see Reyes for the first time without the mask since Zurich. So much had changed, Winston fighting to keep from reeling backwards at the extensive damage stretching along both the mercenary's face and body. Was it even possible to heal damage of this extent? He shared a look with Doctor Ziegler, whose lips stretched in a thin line that gave him a definite answer of 'possible, but very difficult'.

-

"Reaper?" Lena chimed in, looking between them all. Why was the Doc so cold towards the Strike Commander and Commander Reyes? Sure, there was Zurich but-  
Wait, was Winston really insinuating that _Reyes was the Reaper?!_ Sure, there were similarities…the shotguns, the attitude, the tactics…? Oh no. Really?!

"But if he saved Strike Commander Morrison, wouldn't that mean Commander Reyes was on our side the whole time?" Surely that was the only explanation that made sense! Why else would Reaper risk himself to save a potential Talon target? Plus, going one-on-one with Doomfist was no small feat. If not for Winston, her chest might have looked like Reyes's did now after that fight so many years ago with the Numbanian terrorist…. Lena shuddered.

-

"Just Morrison or Jack is fine." The former Strike Commander said firmly, teeth grinding against the pain of speaking. This was exactly the situation he'd been hoping to avoid. It was good to see Winston again (despite his personal feelings regarding the Recall), truly, but...evidently, Ziegler had told him of the Reaper's identity…or Ana had just now. That complicated things. Squeezing the hand in his gently, Jack stole a look down at the bloodied pillow and the torn face occupying it.

"I'm fairly sure he's not in Talon because he wants t-to be." Ack- had to choose his words carefully. "He needs time to recover both mentally and- and physically. I'll keep an eye- an eye on him. I swear it."

-

Mercy was on his side, Winston could tell. After Reaper's initial attack on Gibraltar and consequent attack on the museum with Widowmaker, there was little hope in his mind that Reaper had any intention of goodwill towards Overwatch. He'd secretly hoped that Reyes wouldn't be in such a critical condition as Captain Amari had described, if only so that Doctor Ziegler could heal him and the rest of them could leave before any harm came to a single person present. He had not, unfortunately, factored in that Strike- er, Morrison would be so committed to staying by Reaper's side. It sat in the way that the old soldier held himself, hand clasped tightly in Reyes's and unmoving from the seat even as they'd all come in- though that could be, in part, due to his own injuries. Morrison's sharp gaze shot through him as cleanly as it had back in the old days, Winston wincing as Lena's pleading look joined the fray. Even Captain Amari had vouched, albeit reluctantly, for Reyes. Clearly, he was outnumbered even if the decision was still in his hands.

"Athena will keep an eye on him as well." Winston countered, watching hope skitter across the usually taciturn poker face of the former Strike Commander. "And when he wakes, he'll need to provide concrete proof that he is what you say he is. If he can, I-" the scientist barely held back the disapproval threading through his voice. "I will consider asking him to join Overwatch. If he cannot, we'll turn him over to the U.N."

-

"Deal." It was better than he'd expected if Jack was to be honest with himself. He nodded wearily, relief flooding his every cell. There wasn't a shred of doubt in his mind that they'd be able to find the proof Winston wanted. Whether Gabe really _wanted_ to rejoin Overwatch was another question altogether…but that could wait until they both had healed.

Keeping his hand carefully clasped in Gabriel's, Jack levered himself up out of the chair. Instantly, his vision swam and a cold sweat slid down his spine, mouth drying out as he attempted to steady himself. Had to get his bearings- there wasn't a stretcher in sight and they needed to get Gabe into the dropship (or whatever else they'd come in). Just had to stay on his feet a little- a little longer-

A throb of pain was all the warning he received before Jack's legs collapsed underneath him. His hand slipped from Gabe's, his head barely escaping a nasty hit on the ground with Tracer's quick save, her arms looping under his and around his chest. 

"I'm fine." He shuddered, struggling to get back up. "Help Gabriel, damnit. I'm f-fine."

-

"You're not fine!" Lena protested, further levering him up. Captain Amari came to her rescue, the two of them wrapping the Strike Commander's arms around their shoulders despite his protests. "Winston and Doc have Commander Reyes, so we'll help you to the ship first and then come back to help, okay?" It still blew her mind that this was all happening right now- it seemed inconceivable that Jack Morrison was right here with her with Ana Amari mere feet away and Gabriel Reyes too-! Everyone was back together again! The whole crew! Wait 'till Reinhardt heard about this. Oh geez- wait 'till EVERYONE back at base found out!

-

"No!" Jack hissed, lower back spasming in pain as they lifted him. This hadn't been an issue an hour ago. Why was this happening now?! "Fuck- put me down. Gabriel needs-"  
A faint sound caught his attention, Jack looking back and digging his heels in. It had been a mix of a sigh and gurgle, which didn't-  
It hit him suddenly that the bandaged chest in bed had stilled. Gabe had stopped breathing.

An anguished cry lit the air. It took a moment for Jack to recognize that it was coming from him, the soldier ripping himself away from Lena and Ana in a burst of adrenaline to get back to Gabe's side. He got two steps away before the now-familiar feeling of a sleep dart traitorously hit his neck from behind and his world went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Breathe.

_Breathe._

Step one: determine location and situation without alerting possible hostiles. His body was wedged at a slight upward angle on a…medical bed. A click-whirr suggested oxygen, the pressure of plastic cupping his face confirming it. Heart monitor? Check. IV? Check. Restraints?

…Hm. No restraints. His wrists were clear but for the taped IV line on the left side, both hands and arms atop the sheets that fit snuggly around his lower half. So either he was with a benevolent party…or they didn't believe him enough of a threat at the moment. Ha. Fools.

Inhale. Exhale.

Keeping his breathing slow and heart rate as low as possible, Reaper finally allowed his eyes to open. A ridiculously boring white-grey ceiling greeted him, the slightly darker hue suggesting a non-hospital option. Probably military or former military-? The Overwatch medical centers had all looked like this, he noted, eyes narrowing slightly. Fortunately, Talon had requisitioned nearly all of those that remained. That left him in familiar territory…potentially.

The rest of the medical facility was just as painstakingly drab and sterile. Four empty beds identical to his own stretched out to his left towards a window, the landscape beyond blurred by some textural element in the glass but clearly heavy in vegetation, what with the rich green hues that blanketed the entirety of the background beyond. To his right lay two more empty beds and some sort of modular office unit with a window out to the medical floor, a searching look revealing the area there too to be completely empty. 

Step two: recount what facts he knew to be true. His last memories indicated his last location to be Ilios. Doomfist had been about to take care of Soldier 76 once and for all. After that…it was a blur, despite his best efforts to sort through it all. Echoes with white noise around the edges indicated another _episode_ , much to his chagrin, with no indication from his memories as to how long it had lasted or what it had been about. Flashes of blood, concerned blue eyes, and being unable to shadow-step came to mind-

…Why had he tried to shadow-step? Reaper's eyes clenched together. Something about Akande. It would come back in time.

He was clearly not a prisoner here. No physical eyes were on him, indicating a level of trust. A single security camera blinked in the corner, which meant that they probably knew he was awake and had still not rushed in. It wasn't too far of a jump to assume that these people, whoever they were, knew him in some respect. Given the situation, the most logical step pointed towards Talon as his hosting party. That meant that someone had seen the…for lack of better verbiage, 'mental break' (he barely fought off a flinch at the thought) and brought him back to base to heal from the consequences. Sombra, he reluctantly acquiesced, was probably the defending party if he had to guess. This would probably even out their score a bit- he'd pulled her ass out of the fire enough to at least call it a fair trade. It was…acceptable for the moment.

Reaper allowed his heart rate to rise, leaning his head back once more to stare at the ceiling. Talon was easily dealt with. These episodic breaks from reality were another story altogether. O'Deorain would probably have an idea of how to deal with it. In fact, it was probably only a matter of time before the good doctor walked through that door a few feet over and nearly opposite of his bed, a well-lit hallway showing beyond the little inset window. She always had an odd habit of knowing exactly when he woke from medical procedures. It wasn't an uncommon practice for her to loom right over him with a genial yet twisted smile, asking him how he was feeling despite knowing his condition better than he himself did.

Overall, she'd done a good job of patching him up. None of the usual P.O.D. after-effects were lingering, which seemed…odd, though it was a welcome change. The operating device was effective but incredibly invasive, which he utterly despised. No, his wounds seemed to have been healed with a different technique he'd previously been unaware of. Bandages still wound tightly around his torso, the skin underneath more tender than expected and bones bruised with a deep-set ache that echoed in his lungs with every breath he took. Given the memories of before though-

_-echo chamber of pain, can't sleep, can't breathe-_

-this was an acceptable conscious state. Reaper raised his arms, opening and closing his fists slowly to test reaction time. Seemed fine. With a bit of concentration, black smoke rose from his fingertips and palms, a somber look of satisfaction crossing the Reaper's face. Good. His wraithing abilities seemed to be intact as well-

Ah. Footsteps echoed outside the door, the entryway moving to open. He settled back into bed, smoke trickling away into the open air, ready to confront Moira's sarcastic notes on his condition with some well-aimed retorts of his own-

Instead, Angela Ziegler walks in with a clipboard under one arm and a cup of coffee in-hand. Reaper freezes in place. Ziegler doesn't work with Talon. She- 

Ziegler looks his way and it takes only a moment of locked eye contact to confirm that she is, indeed, real by the way her motion screeches to a half, the two regarding each other as the tension rose- and broke. Mercy sprinted for her office as Reaper shadow-stepped himself out of the bed and all medical attachments, the medical equipment giving an ungodly shriek as the heart monitor disconnected. Bare feet pressed to the ground, Reaper sank into a defensive stance with an angry inhuman hiss. His armor and gauntlets were missing from sight, which left him without his hard-light shotguns but made him no less dangerous. Black smoke poured off his shoulders and upper arms, pain rising in waves from tailbone to sternum as he stalked towards the open office, blonde hair flipping into view momentarily through the medical viewing window before Mercy appeared in the entryway with the Cadaceus staff in hand, pistol filling the previously empty holster on the hip. A threat was thrown down to tranquilize him should he get any closer, Reaper laughing aloud nastily.

"Tranqs don't work on me. Didn't you know?" His voice crackles with disuse, Ziegler's staff discarded in the moment to grab the pistol, Reaper preparing to shadow-step behind and snap that pretty little neck-

-when, of course, Jack Morrison chose that moment to rush in like he _always fucking did,_ the door slamming open and nearly off the hinges as he skidded to a halt between the two. He looked ridiculous in civvies, but the hint of bandages below clothing and the hint of discoloration around Morrison's neck stirred the beginnings of a memory he could _almost_ grasp at-

No. Now was NOT the time, especially when he now had a chance to finish what Doomfist had started.

-

Athena's warning had barely been in time, given the situation he found on arrival. Gabriel resembled an angered snake about to strike, Ziegler's pistol raised-

"STOP!" Jack motioned for Angela to drop the weapon, turning to face his old friend head-on instead. Holy hell. It took more than a little determination to look beyond the man's unclothed state, silver hair glinting in the medbay's flourescent lighting. Gabriel's response made morbid sense, having woken in a foreign place and greeted with a pistol to the face, and it required a more personal touch.

"Gabriel-" the smoke rose and Jack slid into a defensive position of his own, watching the other man for hints of how he would choose to strike. "Stand down. You're among allies here."

-

"You're full of _shit_." Reaper spat out, back twitching as the smoke began to fade on its own accord. What the fuck? Were his implants malfunctioning again? He mentally pulled at the shadow step, but it barely responded this time. What, was he a one-stop wonder now-?! This meant he'd have to take Morrison down physically, not that he minded as much as he was annoyed by how much more complicated this was than just blasting someone's face off with shotgun pellets.

-

That…wasn't the response he'd been hoping for. Gabriel looked about ready to tear his face off, expression reminiscent of one Jack recognized from a certain Swiss base's destruction- but he refused to let it throw him. Gabe was in there. He'd _seen_ him.

"Doomfist would have killed me if you hadn't stepped in." Jack countered, choosing his words carefully. "You were in critical condition afterwards. Overwatch offered to take us in and give you medical care. I'd ask that you not try to kill the person responsible for saving your life." Without Angela Ziegler, Gabe would be in a body bag by now. When Jack had awoken from his sleep-dart-enhanced slumber, he'd found himself in the Watchpoint medical bay with his wounds treated and Angela hard at work on the Reaper beside him. She truly was a miracle worker.

-

Doomfist would have _what_ if he hadn't _WHAT?!_ Reaper reeled back, staring at the fading color on Morrison's neck. That was impossible. He wouldn't have jumped in to _save Morrison_ , of all people. HELL. 

Re-analyze facts. He was in OVERWATCH, of all places, and had been treated under the assumption that he had saved Jack Morrison's life and fought Akande- oh hell. A sudden flash of memory reminded him of Doomfist's gauntlet nearly slamming a hole through his chest. It explained the following flashes, the episodes fitting in all too well…

Well. He was rightly fucked, wasn't he.

Re-analyze situation. Up until he'd awoken, Overwatch had treated him as one of their own. Despite everything, he wasn't in a cell or even restrained. That meant that _somehow_ , he was trusted here. The reasoning still escaped him but the potential of the entire situation did not. Reaper was _in Overwatch_ , welcomed even. Morrison even seemed to be considering him an ally and, as much as the thought threatened to send his hands into a murderous handshake around Morrison's throat, this too could work in his favor. He had to play this right. Currently, he was without weaponry or gear of any kind in an unknown Watchpoint, most likely surrounded by enemies (former enemies?). Not to mention that Talon (and Akande especially) most likely wanted Reaper's head on a silver platter. Why would they look for reasoning when an 'obvious solution' sat before them? Sentimentality indeed. Fuck his life.

If he went through with this, it could mean a goldmine of data for Talon along with the means to take down Overwatch once and for all. However, that meant…playing 'nice' and playing allies. 'Nice' wasn't something he was willing to do, especially at the moment. But then again, a certain Gabriel Reyes hadn't always been the 'nice' one anyway.

The atmosphere felt charged, Reaper realizing that both he and Jack had been silent for nearly a minute now. Time to make a choice. The corner of his mouth twitched, jaw clenching-

Reyes snapped a haymaker solidly into Morrison's face, the blow knocking the bastard down on his ass and pulling a rare curse from Ziegler in the background. However, no further attack came. Instead, he glared down with crimson wrath.

"That's for Zurich, you pompous asshole."

Reaper pulled at every last bit of Reyes he had left and shoved it to the forefront, internally screaming at what he was about to do. Regretting the motion even as he followed through, a patchwork hand extended down to Morrison in a silent offer.

-

He really should have expected that.

Jack huffed, split lip trickling blood to his chin as he raised an eyebrow at the hand, regarding it only for a second before taking it. Gabe lifted him like he weighed nothing. How long had it been since they'd had a moment like this?

"I may have deserved that." He mused, forcing himself to let go of Gabe in order to give them both some space.

-

"You're lucky I didn't decide to break that crooked nose." Reyes deadpans acidicly, arms crossing his chest. Mentally, he was blowing double holes in Morrison's guts with smoking shotguns. MAY have deserved it?! It took reminding himself that this was for the sake of the long game and breathing through the intense anger to finally clear his head.

Morrison snorts a laugh, evidently taking it as a joke. Something nasty twisted in Reaper's stomach as a smile curled up the scarred face-

LONG. GAME. Breathe. 

It's then that two more unwelcome guests join the party, the monkey and Morrison's old lackey rounding out the number of reasons to both keep his cool and eventually raze this place to the ground. It's only when they both look away (was the monkey even capable of blushing?) that he realizes what they're both embarrassed by. Really? Morrison pulls a towel out of god-knows-where and Reyes accepts it, swallowing the taunt he wants to throw in their faces. Being in the nude wasn't anything to be ashamed of. Hell, it intimidated the enemy when done correctly. He's not the prettiest blue jay these days but Reaper had never been shy about himself. Clothed, armored, or naked- what did it matter when his body was a literal living weapon capable of taking down any foe in the vicinity?

…Ugh. He did need to play this right though. The towel was swiftly wrapped about his waist, Reyes tucking in the end without looking. 

Morrison is playing nice too, thought it's surprisingly easy to tell that even the fool has tired of diplomacy, the doctor, monkey, and lackey talking in anxious whispers while the solider speaks normally, the entire conversation made more unwieldy by it. The fact that the former Strike Commander is even trying (especially with Reaper himself being at the center of it all) is almost amusing. A bruise attempts to appear on the pale jaw as Morrison talks, the discoloration vaguely resembling a fist (much to Reaper's satisfaction) before fading away slowly as the split lip healed over. SEP healing was still active apparently.

Then, the monkey turns his way, squares up, and asks plainly and frankly what he wants. Reaper wants to laugh aloud. What he wants is to light this whole place on fire and watch it burn to ashes. Instead, Reyes clears his throat, pausing for effect. This is the moment he's been waiting for.

The easiest way to create a good lie was to stray along the razor's edge of truth, twist it believably, and give just enough detail to lend credibility. Time to make this look good.

"Since I'm here and unable to proceed with my plans to take down Talon from within," a sudden stroke of genius, given the organization he actually wanted to take down. "Perhaps…it's time to stop assisting from the background and step up. Might as well join the team I was fighting for the entire time." Reyes regarded the mo- no, his name was Winston. Needed to start mentally switching that. Lackey- again, _Tracer_ \- was grinning. "If you'll have me."

All of them stare. Ziegler seems the most affected, the doctor plopping down onto an empty bed and putting her head in her hands. M- Winston appears almost angry- but if he is, he's hiding it well. The _gorilla_ (marginally better) asks if there is proof of his words anywhere. It's a fair point. Fortunately, Reaper apparently still has some favors to call in.

"I'll need access to the internet, a comm unit, and time to gather the data I have on Talon from the secure server I stored it on." In reality, it would give him access to Sombra. The hacker had plenty of data to make this whole scenario believable. It was almost too easy.

-

If Reyes was telling the truth…this was huge. The Strike Commander was right. A stab of guilt went straight to Winston's belly, the scientist grimacing as he shifted balance between his knuckles. Here he'd almost left Reyes to die-

"If you can procure proof within twenty-four hours, you'll be given a probationary membership into Overwatch and your gear back." Reading Reyes's face was impossible…but there was a sudden bright look in his face that Winston interpreted as 'interested'. "If proof isn't brought forward by that time, we will relocate you to a cell until Overwatch can decide what to do." At least it would give them time to truly evaluate how much truth was in the former Blackwatch Commander's story. Perhaps Reyes would be able to give them a bit more detail as well. How on earth could he have stayed undetected within Talon for so long beyond his considerable black ops skills? There had to be other factors, surely! Something just didn't sit right here. Without further data to back this all up, his distrust in Reyes was certainly justified. Wasn't it?

-

"Agreed." Reyes didn't need to even think the proposal over. With Sombra's data, he'd win them over without much fanfare. Piece of cake.

Morrison gave him a nod, Winston and L- Tracer reluctantly leaving to get the comm unit set up. Reaper wasn't entirely sure how he would have managed the speedster jumping forward at him even without his guns- perhaps best she was leaving. Ziegler near-stomped back to her office to gather tools for a physical to allow him to leave, clearly upset by the turn of events. Morrison was the last remaining unknown factor, Reyes casting a quick searching look his way.

-

"I'll get you set up in a room." He knew that look. Gabe needed space. "When you're ready, we should…talk." Jack's arms mirrored his old friend's, crossing his chest tightly. What he really wanted was to hug Gabe until one or both of them keeled over from crushed ribs…but doing that right as he'd woken-  
Oh shit. "Did you need more time to recover before all of this?"

-

Hell. Morrison seemed ready to fall over a puddle if it meant keeping him on dry land, wasn't he. Reaper felt a smirk tug at his lips. So far, everything was falling almost too perfectly into place.

"Talk. Right. That thing we're so great at."

That prompted another laugh, despite the sarcasm Reyes had layered on. He shook his head, stalking back to the bed and sitting on the edge before responding.

"I'd rather get this over with." In more ways than one, really. Yes, this was _most_ opportune. The Reaper watched Jack Morrison huff out an agreement-

_-what the hell had given Jack fucking Morrison the right to be so goddamn gorgeous? Gabriel finished patching up the wound on Jack's hand, raising an eyebrow as the blonde head turned and eyebrows waggled his way. "Pff-" A smile split Gabe's face, the commander barely holding back a snicker-_

-oh shit. Reyes blinked slowly in horror as the laugh died in his throat, Morrison having a chuckle off to the side. Fuck! NO. Why was his head doing this to him?! Situations were only opportune if he could control the outcomes; with these episodes happening whenever they damn well pleased, it left him literally out of touch with reality for however long his head decided to keep him there. He couldn't even be sure that they were all memories now either- when the hell would he have found Jack Morrison attractive?!

…He'd get through this somehow. He'd persevere and take down Overwatch and watch Morrison bleed out beneath his boot. Just…had to keep it together. Reyes shot a wary glance Jack's way. That was what he wanted, right?

…Right?

…Right.

Breathe.

_Breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I knew chapter 3 didn't make much sense without this one to follow it up so I definitely didn't want to keep you all waiting.
> 
> Part one of the Phoenix series is now complete! Part two, 'Razor's Edge', will most likely start appearing around the end of December. I don't want to give away too much, but I'll at least give you the work summary:  
> The Reaper has joined Overwatch. However, the longer he stays, the more he begins to realize that not all is as it seems. What is real? Where does the lie end and the truth begin? Most importantly, is Gabriel Reyes as dead as Reaper believes him to be?


End file.
